


Gifts of the Unknown

by LaceFedora, the_dragongirl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Force Ghosts interfering with things, Force Sensitive Clone, M/M, May The Fourth Be With You, Politics, heavy handed symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceFedora/pseuds/LaceFedora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl
Summary: The inhibitor chips did more than just force clones to obey certain orders. They also supressed undesirable traits, such as Force Sensitivity. When Tup's chip malfunctions at Ringo Vinda, it sets off a series of events that will rock the Republic, reform the Jedi, and ultimately, save the galaxy.





	1. Impossible Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was supposed to be my Star Wars Big Bang. However, as you can see, only half of the fic was completed by the deadline. Fortunately, Lace was still willing to make art in spite of my poor time management. Thus, I invite you all to enjoy this half a Big Bang. May the Fourth be with you, folks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue in this chapter has been taken directly from The Clone Wars, The Lost Missions, Episode 1: “The Unknown”

The headache had been throbbing behind Tup’s eyes for rotations now. It started out as just the slightest twinge when they landed on that station at Ringo Vinda, but it’d been building ever since, growing worse with each passing hour. Now it was pulsing in time to his heartbeat, pounding like something was trying to force its way out of his skull.

Normally, he would chalk it up to too many days with too few rations, too many enemy engagements, and too little rest. This battle had, after all, been going non-stop for far longer than any of them had planned, extending on rotation after rotation with no end in sight. General Skywalker tried to make sure they all got rest shifts, but with the GAR stretched as thin as they were, they were all running pretty close to the edge right now. Clone troopers might be tough, but that didn’t make them immune to the effects of exhaustion. Tup had fought through those effects before. He could do it again.

However, with the increasing pain had come... something else. Something Tup couldn’t quite describe. It was like the galaxy came briefly into focus in the moments when the pain was the worst. Like he was standing in a dark room, and the pain was illuminating the space around him in pulses of strange light. Or like everything was shrouded in fog, which only cleared in flashes timed to the pounding in his head. It’s why he hadn’t reported the headaches to Kix; those flashes were damned useful in battle. One of them had saved Fives’ hide not minutes ago, when it had shown Tup that clanker about to take a shot at his unprotected side.

He couldn’t quite describe what quality it was that he saw during those brief glimpses. He wasn’t even sure if it was really _seeing_ , or if it was something that he just...perceived. All he could tell was that this something was somehow simultaneously brand new and a trait been there all along. And that, whatever it was, it was everywhere. The sensation left Tup feeling like a stranger in his own skin.

Tup could tell Fives was worried about him. Maybe he wasn’t quite managing to hide his winces when the pain got too intense, or maybe he was just being too quiet, ignoring all of the usual mid-battle banter in favor of keeping his concentration as things came in and out of focus. But now Fives kept giving him those little looks out of the corner of his eye, like maybe he wasn’t sure his lover should even be here.

But, damn it all, Tup could _handle_ this. He may not be a kriffing ARC trooper, but he was a good soldier. There wasn’t room on the battlefield to be anything else. He could fight through exhaustion and pain and whatever weird little insights his tired brain was offering up. It was all well and good for Fives to worry about him out of combat, but here and now, he had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to let Fives drag him off to medical and take one more trooper out of action. General Tiplar’s company couldn’t afford to lose even one of their desperately needed reinforcements.

“Hey, you alright?” Fives asked, as he slung his bucket back on his head and prepared to move out.

“Yeah, uh, I just…” Tup lost track of his sentence, distracted momentarily by another pulse of pain and clarity.

“Come on. This is a textbook battle. We’ve run through this a million times in training.” Fives’ voice was light, but Tup could hear the underlying question - _are you up for this?_

“Yeah, I...I know. I just...don’t feel. Like myself,” Tup stuttered out, trying to breath through it, and get his head back together.

“What do you mean?” Fives’ voice dropped, utterly serious now.

Tup was about to reassure Fives, when his gaze caught on General Tiplar. The flash that followed seemed to be trying to tell him that there was something coming, something centered on her. Or...maybe not on her specifically? Maybe on what she represented?

“Jedi…” Tup muttered under his breath. The word felt strangely weighty in his mouth.

“Tup,” Fives said urgently, breaking Tup out of the sort of half-trance he had fallen into without realizing it. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Ah, n-nothing. I’m fine.” Tup shook his head to clear it, and put on his own bucket. “Come on, brother. We don’t want to be left behind.” Before Fives could reply (or worse, pull him from the battle altogether), Tup was off and running, following General Tiplar and her men down the corridor.

As they pushed on towards the main hangar, everything seemed almost normal for a moment. The pain faded into the background as Tup took shot after shot, mowing down the droid resistance with his brothers, just like any other battle.

That changed when they actually reached the hangar, though. Tup was no more than few steps beyond the end of the corridor when a fresh wave of that clarifying agony sent him staggering.

“Tup, hey!” He heard Fives call out to him, that undercurrent of worry stronger than ever. “This is not the time to freeze up. Pull it together. We’re almost to the finish line, come on!”

Tup gritted his teeth, rapping his bucket for good measure. He pushed forward to the nearby column to regroup, and then rounded it to take his next shot. But as he lined up the nearest clanker in his sights, his eyes fell instead on General Tiplar. The pain flared again, stronger than ever.

And in that instant, he could see it; how the droid currently lurking out of sight behind the larger carcass in front of him was going to pop up and take a shot while the General was distracted with a nearer opponent. How the shot would strike her unprotected back, and she would fall at his feet before any of them could raise a blaster to save her. How the kriffing clankers were going to get yet another of their Generals (their _real_ Generals, the ones who actually gave a damn about the lives under their command.) And he knew, somehow, that he could stop it. That he _had_ to stop it.

Suddenly, that something else that accompanied the pain was _everywhere_. The flavor of it filled his mouth; the perfume of it pervaded his nose; the music of it blocked all other sounds from his ears. It was bright, and warm, and blessed spirits, it was _inside_ of him, swirling beneath his skin, utterly alien, and yet somehow completely familiar. His head felt like it would split open from the pain, but that sensation was somehow distant, blocked by the immensity of that mysterious something. He felt it flowing, around and in and through him. It insulated him from the chaos of battle, as he walked steadily forward, absently removing his bucket and tossing it aside.

Then he gathered up the immense something, and _pushed_. The clanker, that had only just started to make its move, smashed against the far wall, falling to the floor in a useless pile of scrap and wire.

 

Artwork by [LaceFedora](lacefedora.tumblr.com)

 

Tup fell with it, his legs giving out underneath him as the pain trebled. Distantly, he saw General Tiplar, her eyes wide with shock. He heard Fives shouting his name, then felt his brother pulling him into his arms, checking his armor for blaster marks with unsteady hands. Tup wanted to reassure him, wanted to let him know that he wasn’t hurt; he was just very tired all of a sudden, and the pain in his head was starting to blind him, and he’d really just like to lay down for a bit. But speech was more effort than he could manage at the moment, and anyway, Fives could manage without him for a little while. Tup closed his eyes, and let the pain take him.

 

* * *

 

Tup dreamed. Or rather, he thought he was dreaming. Snatches of half-heard conversation floated past, blurring into an incomprehensible wall of sound. Glimpses of places he had never seen and people he had never met seemed to dance around him. Tup reached out a hand to brush against one of the fragments. As he touched it, it expanded, filling the space around him and pushing all of those other shards of image aside.

Tup found himself standing near the edge of an airy circular chamber. Windows lined the walls on all sides, showing views of what he was fairly certain was a Coruscanti skyline. And within the chamber...Jedi. A lot of Jedi. Some were physically present, seated in a ring around an empty central expanse. Others were present only as holograms, glowing softly blue in contrast to the room’s more golden light. Tup realized with a start that he actually recognized several of them. The holographic forms of several Generals he knew to be in the field dotted the ring: Shaak Ti, Ki-Adi Mundi, Mace Windu. Immediately to his right, General Obi-Wan Kenobi lounged in person, one leg folded up carelessly onto the chair, booted foot resting on his knee. His attention was focussed on the center of the room, where the hologram of Tup’s own General joined those of Generals Tiplee and Tiplar. Distantly, Tup noted with relief that General Tiplar appeared unharmed.

“-so there can be no doubt,” General Skywalker concluded. “Master Tiplar was saved by an exercise of Force ability which neither I nor Master Tiplee carried out. He was right there when it happened. All three of us felt how his presence changed after that, and saw how the effort impacted him. I don’t see how there’s anything left here to question.”

“Be that as it may,” General Ti said pensively, her voice only slightly distorted by the compression of the hologram stream. “That doesn’t explain how this came to happen in the first place. If this was occurring among the younger clones, I should have been able to sense that trait in their presence here on Kamino. But I have sensed nothing of the kind.”

“Nor does it explain why an exercise of these abilities seems to have caused this clone harm,” another Master added. Tup recognized him as the General in command of the 104th, though his name escaped Tup’s memory. “A minor exercise of telekinesis should not have been enough to send him into shock, if he is as powerful as you believe. It certainly shouldn’t be enough to cause him to experience the kind of neurological meltdown you are describing.”

“One thing is for certain,” General Kenobi said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “There is something more going on here than any of us currently knows. Anakin, have the medics cleared him for transport?”

General Skywalker shrugged. “Kix says that he’s not sure whether hyperspace travel will make this worse or not, but we definitely don’t have the resources to treat this kind of neurological damage in the field, so it’s probably less of a risk to move him than keep him here.”

“Then move him to Kamino,” a Zabrak Jedi Tup had never seen before said decidedly. “They created the clones. They’ll know what to do with one who is malfunctioning.”

General Kenobi frowned. “I would hardly call saving Master Tiplar’s life a _malfunction_ , Master Kolar. I was going to suggest that he be brought here, to be treated by Temple Healers.”

“Who are already overwhelmed by caring for our own wounded?” the Zabrak said. “That hardly seems necessary. It’s only a clone.”

“Only a clone?” General Kenobi said, his voice suddenly low and tight. Tup wondered if the Zabrak Jedi could hear the danger contained within that voice. “He is a sentient being, who is apparently quite strong in the Force, and, I might add, actually under the direct care and command of the Jedi. And he was injured saving the life of one of ‘our own’, as you put it. I fail to see what part of that can be dismissed as ‘only a clone.’ With all due respect, Master Kolar, I do realize that you have not been in the field working with these men directly as most of us have, but that kind of short-sighted dismissal is exactly what-”

“Enough,” an aged voice cut in, even as Tup tried to figure out how to interpret ‘apparently quite strong in the Force’. Tup had _thought_ they were talking about him before that, but wasn’t the Force a Jedi thing? His thoughts interrupted, Tup glanced over, to see the tiny form of Master Yoda seated on a small chair halfway around the circle. “Right, Master Kenobi is. To Coruscant, the clone must be brought.” The old Master looked up, and Tup had the oddest feeling that those wide green eyes were looking right at him. “Once he is here, examined, he can be. Any more discussion on this matter, until then can wait.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda,” General Skywalker said. “Now, I think we can spare a ship to move him, but we’ll need-”

Tup tried to keep listening, but the image was beginning to disintegrate, and in a moment, it dissolved completely.

The dream shifted again, swirling back into chaos for long moments, until it caught on another conversation. This time, there were only two figures; a man in a cloak knelt in a wide, darkened hall, speaking in low tones tones to the holographic figure of a being whose form was entirely hidden by a robe and deep hood.

“My Lord, I have received a report regarding one of our...assets. A report which I am unsure how to interpret.”

“Our assets?” The voice was old, most likely a human or near-human male. There was something chillingly familiar in its tone, though Tup couldn’t say where he’d heard it before.

“Yes. One of the clones on Ringo Vinda has done something...rather unexpected. Indeed, something we were assured to be impossible.”

“Explain,” the robed figure commanded icily.

“It would seem that he saved a Jedi’s life.”

“That is hardly an unusual occurrence,” the hooded figure said, scorn dripping from their (his? Almost certainly ‘his’, Tup decided) voice.

“Yes, my lord, but the means by which he accomplished this _are_ unusual. According to my source, the Jedi in question was about to be struck down by one of the droids. The clone reached out a hand towards it, and the machine was thrown against the wall. The clone collapsed afterward. My source thought at first that some sort of explosive had been used, which caught the clone in its backlash, but a review of the recording shows no weapon of any kind.”

The hooded man was silent for a long moment. “How is this possible?” he asked at last.

“I do not know.” It was hard to see the kneeling man’s face in the gloom of the hall, but Tup was fairly sure he grimaced. “The Kaminoans assured me that Fett had no trace of Force sensitivity in his ancestry, and the...measures we put in place should have prevented its occurrence as a random mutation.”

“Clearly, those measures have become compromised.” The hooded man raised a hand to his chin in thought. “Now, the question remains: has the primary purpose of those measures been compromised as well?”

“I do not believe so, my lord. All evidence seems to suggest that this was an isolated incident.”

“Hmm. That may be. And yet, we cannot afford to take the risk.” In the holographic display, the man lowered his hand, and drew himself up to full height. “Find this clone, and bring him to me. Even if this incident does prove to be an aberration, a servant of his abilities might prove to be quite an asset to our plans.”

“That...may prove difficult, my Lord,” the kneeling man said hesitantly. “The latest intelligence reports indicate he may already be in transit to Coruscant, and the Jedi Temple. Removing him from their custody if he is already in hyperspace may not be possible.”

“I am not interested in excuses, Lord Tyranus!” that cold voice snapped, and the kneeling man (Tyranus, Tup noted. Had he heard that name somewhere before?) flinched. “You _will_ bring him to me, by any means necessary.”

“Yes, my Lord. I will mobilize…...and if they prove unable, there is…...contract…”

Once again, the scene was fading out, whirling back into an incomprehensible swirl of color and sound. Tup gritted his teeth in frustration. Why couldn’t this dream show him something that actually made _sense_?

As if in answer to the unspoken question, the scenery resolved again. The setting was unfamiliar to Tup, but this time, the speakers were not.

“Damn it all, we’re not leaving him in there alone!” Fives growled at a tired looking young Rodian in Jedi robes.

“Calm yourself, Trooper Fives,” the young Jedi said, folding their arms into the sleeves of their robes. “We are not trying to keep you apart from Trooper Tup. But with the level of neurological damage he has already sustained, we cannot afford to have additional minds in an unshielded space with him until he is stabilized. I promise you, as soon as he comes out of surgery and the senior healers clear him for visitors, you will be contacted. In the meantime, there is the matter of-”

“We’ve already agreed to your kriffing scans!” Fives shouted. “Even if you won’t tell what the kark you’re scanning _for_ , and-”

“Fives,” Rex said gently, laying a hand on Fives’ arm. Tup started a little. He hadn't even noticed Rex standing there, focussed as he was on his lover. “The Jedi are doing the best they can for him. I know you’re worried about Tup; we _all_ are. But this isn’t helping.”

Fives slumped. “I know. But you didn’t see him, Rex. It’s like he wasn’t even there! And now they won’t even tell us-”

Much to Tup’s frustration, the scene was starting to fade out again. Grunting with effort, Tup tried to reach out and pull it back into focus. Something seemed to stretch taut within him, but he kept reaching. He could _almost_ feel it in his grasp.

Then a hand gripped his elbow, pulling him backwards, and the scene slipped from his hold entirely.

“Careful, my young friend,” a calm, even voice said behind him. “Trying to force it like that can be dangerous even for one trained and in the best of health, and you are neither at the moment. You don’t want to risk becoming lost in it.”

The chaos of color and sound faded into a pearly, featureless gray mist, as Tup turned to shout at the speaker for breaking his focus.

A serene-looking human man stared back at him. A neat beard framed his strong, square jaw and high cheekbones. His hair was long and dark, touched with gray at the temples, and partly gathered into a high knot at the top of his head. The rest hung down to brush the shoulders of his worn brown Jedi robes.

He smiled at Tup’s look of consternation. “Hello.”

Tup gaped at him, his intended tirade entirely derailed. “Who are you?”

The Jedi smiled at him, and bowed slightly. “I am Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. Or, at least, what’s left of him. And what may I call you?”

“Ummm...Tup. My name is Tup.”

Sifo-Dyas smiled a little wider and inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Tup. My apologies for my rather abrupt interference, but uncontrolled visions can be quite dangerous to the untrained, and I didn’t wish to see you come to harm.”

“Visions...is that what they are, then?” Tup asked. This dream was certainly taking an odd turn. First that gathering of Jedi, then those two strangers, and Fives and Rex, and now _this._ Tup wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.

“Of course,” Sifo-Dyas said. The Jedi looked at him closely, as if trying to discern something. “I must say, though, it’s rather a surprise. I never expected anything like this when I commissioned the Kaminoans to create you and your brothers.”

“When you...wait. _You_ ’ _re_ the Jedi who placed the original order? But General Skywalker said that Jedi was dead!”

“And so I am,” Sifo-Dyas said amiably, as though it were nothing extraordinary. “For several years now. That doesn’t mean there isn’t still work for me to do.”

Tup spluttered, as he tried to articulate all of the things that were wrong with that statement. Sifo-Dyas ignored it, instead giving Tup that same pensive, searching look. “I never foresaw that this would happen. But now...yes, I can see it. The Force has opened up a new path before you.” His gaze seemed to turn inward, his expression thoughtful. “If this is handled right, it could change everything.”

“ _What_ could change everything?” Tup exclaimed. “What exactly is going on here?”

The Jedi looked him in the eye, and smiled again. “Unless I’m much mistaken, you’re about to find out.”

Then, before Tup could demand more answers, Sifo-Dyas reached out, and placed one fingertip on Tup’s forehead. The mist shattered.

 

* * *

 

Tup awoke in the softest bed he had ever felt in his life. A warm glow of golden light shown through his eyelids. Some kind of machinery hissed and beeped quietly in the background, and someone was breathing nearby, but no other sounds disturbed the peace that surrounded him.

He mentally sorted through his physical sensations, moving immediately into the basic self-assessment that was a part of every clone trooper’s training. All of his limbs were present and accounted for. His temperature was well within standard range. He could feel no obvious wounds, healing or otherwise, and the muzzy feeling of clone-appropriate pain medication was notably absent. Most pleasingly, the splitting ache in his head from before was nowhere to be found.

When he turned his attention outside his body, however, things quickly became… strange, was perhaps the best word for it. Not painful, but not necessarily comfortable either. That all-encompassing clarity he remembered from the battle on Ringo Vinda was still present, and if anything was stronger than ever. The ambient glow through his eyelids remained unchanged, but he could see (or, perhaps, feel) sources of bright, twinkling light all around him that had nothing to do with the room’s physical illumination. Instinctively, he reached out in his mind to touch one of those lights, and was bombarded with a babble of...were those _thoughts?_

Tup groaned at the deluge of alien sensation, trying in vain to cut it off before it could overwhelm him entirely. Beside him, someone shifted.

“Well, we can’t have _that_ ,” a cultured voice murmured in a crisp Coruscanti accent. Then a hand lightly brushed Tup’s forehead, and the overwhelming feeling of otherness abruptly cut off.

Tup opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with General Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Jedi looked exactly as he had in Tup’s dream; neatly dressed and far better rested than Tup had ever seen him on the battlefield. He smiled as he met Tup’s eyes, but did not move his hand away.

“Hello, Tup,” he said. “We’re glad to see you back among the living.”

“Glad...to be here,” Tup said faintly. His mind raced, trying to figure out what in the Galaxy the High General was doing sitting vigil beside Tup in medical. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure this _was_ medical. It was certainly a step up from any med-bed he’d ever seen on even the most plush of GAR medical cruisers.

“Anakin sends his apologies for not escorting you back from the front himself, but he couldn’t be spared from Ringo Vinda for that long. Both Captain Rex and Trooper Fives accompanied you, though, and you’ll be pleased to know that the Separatists have been pushed back, and Ringo Vinda is back in Republic hands.”

“Oh,” Tup said faintly. General Skywalker was apologizing for not taking a trooper to medical himself? But that wasn’t even his job! And that still didn’t explain what another General was doing here. “And...ummm...was there something you needed from me, sir?”

“Oh, no,” General Kenobi said lightly. His hand was _still_ on Tup’s forehead. “I’ve just agreed to take responsibility for watching over you, for the moment.”

Tup tried to make sense of that, and failed. Clearly, there was still something he was missing here. “What...happened?”

“That,” General Kenobi said, tilting his head slightly, “is a very curious question. Tell me, what do you remember?”

“Ringo Vinda,” Tup replied instantly. He was no longer sure that everything after that _had_ been a dream, but the battle, that had _definitely_ been real. “We were making a push to drive the enemy back to the main hangar. Fives and me and some of the men went with General Tiplar’s group to give them some backup. And then, that clanker...I could see what it was going to do to her, even though I couldn’t see it at _all_ , and…and my head was hurting so much, but I could _see_ …” Tup stopped, turning a bewildered look at the General. “Sir, what _was_ that?”

“That,” General Kenobi said, his voice gentle but utterly sure, “was the Force.”

Tup stared at him. “Bantha shit.” He winced. “Ah, that is to say, sir, that there must have been some kind of mistake. With all due respect, I’m no Jedi.”

General Kenobi shook his head firmly. “There’s no mistake, Tup. You used the Force to save General Tiplar’s life. What’s more, you used it again just now, when you reached out to the other minds in the Temple. If I hadn’t shielded you from them, you’d probably still be using it right now.  No, there can be no doubt. You are very strong in the Force. I suspect you have been for quite some time. Which,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “means if you’re feeling somewhat more in control of yourself, I can probably let those shields go now. Your instinctive control should be enough in the heart of the Temple.”

“I...yes, sir,” Tup replied faintly, unsure of what else to say. With a nod, the General removed his hand from Tup’s forehead and sat back in his chair, a line of tension in between his brows that Tup hadn’t previously noticed smoothing out.

The lights from earlier reappeared in Tup’s awareness, but dimly, a pleasant background radiation rather than an overwhelming corona. It was, Tup realized with a start, a very familiar background. He couldn’t remember ever having consciously noticed it before, but its presence felt far more natural than its absence of a few moments ago.

General Kenobi smiled at the look of wonder that crossed Tup’s face then. “So you do feel it then.”

“I...yes,” Tup breathed. “But sir...if I had this thing all along, why didn’t anyone notice until now?”

The General grimaced. “We have some suspicions about that.” He reached into his robe, and pulled out a datapad. Flipping through the controls, he brought up an image of a small, flat, organic-looking object. Something about the sight of it turned Tup’s stomach.

“Do you have any idea what this is?” General Kenobi asked.

“No, sir,” Tup replied. “But...whatever it is...there’s something _wrong_ about it, isn’t there?”

“Indeed,” the General said. He looked at the image, and grimaced. “When you arrived here, you were suffering from severe neurological symptoms, from a cause which none of the field medics could identify. According to Anakin, your presence in the Force was also fluctuating dramatically. When the Temple Healers examined you, they found this implanted in your brain.”

“What is it?” Tup asked, fighting back a wave of nausea that was not entirely physical.

“We’re not exactly sure,” the General said. “We do know that, whatever it is, it’s degradation was the source of your symptoms. We also know that it was not present in you alone. Captain Rex and Trooper Fives volunteered for similar scanning after this was found, and the same thing turned up in both of them. Don’t worry,” he added hastily, as Tup struggled up in alarm, “our healers removed the object from both of them as a precaution, and they’re recovering nicely.”

He shut the datapad off and tucked it back into his robes. “No, what’s curious about all of this is that, while your other neurologic symptoms continued for some time after your surgery, at least until you’d undergone a few sessions of Force-aided healing, the fluctuations in your Force presence ceased immediately upon the object’s removal.” He laced his hands in front of his face, looking pensive. “We’ve contacted the Kaminoans, but so far they’ve been unable - or unwilling - to explain how a Force inhibitor came to be implanted inside of your minds.”

“And...Fives, sir. And Rex. When those things were removed...was it the same for them, sir? Are they...like me?”

General Kenobi smiled wryly. “No. It would appear that your gifts are by no means universal among your brothers.” His eyebrow quirked. “You are a unique individual, Tup. And I have a odd feeling that fact is going to be very important to all of us, in the not too distant future.”

“I...see,” Tup said, unsure what to make of that.

The General’s smile shifted to something more open. “But all of that is a consideration for another time, I think. For now,” he said, standing, “you should get some rest. The Jedi Council has requested your presence as soon you are recovered enough to be out of the Healers’ direct supervision. I am assured that will be the case tomorrow, and you’ll need your strength for that, so I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to leave, gesturing as he did to turn the lights in the room down to appropriate sleeping levels.

Tup could not deny that weariness was starting to overtake him again, but he had one more question that needed to be asked before the General left.

“Sir?” Tup called out, and General Kenobi turned back in the doorway to look at him.

“Yes, Tup?”

“Could I…” Tup hesitated, not sure if this was an appropriate request to make of the High General of the GAR. “If they’re allowing me out tomorrow, could I...could I see Fives?”

General Kenobi gave him a surprised look, but nodded. “I don’t see why not. I’ll arrange for it after you’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tup replied, yawning.

“Obi-Wan,” the General murmured quietly. “You should call me Obi-Wan.”

“What?” Tup asked sleepily.

“Nothing,” General Kenobi replied. “Rest well, Tup. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tup considered asking again, because all of these half-answers were starting to get old, but he really was quite tired, and the bed was so comfortable. It could wait until morning.

 

* * *

 

It was a familiar nightmare. One that came to every brother Tup had ever asked about it, at one time or another.

It always began the same way. The man in the cloak, and his order. Always the same order, which none of them could remember upon waking. And then they would turn to their Generals and Commanders, the beings whom they would follow to hell and beyond. And they would raise their blasters. And they would fire.

Blood on soil and snow and starship floors. Screaming. Every light in the galaxy gone out in a single moment.

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

Tonight, though, it was different. The cloaked man stood before him, and gave his order as always. But this time, Tup did not fire.

Instead, he cast his blaster aside, and raised the shining blue blade, as familiar as his own hands. “I am not your soldier,” he said, “and I will not obey.”

Then he struck out, the figure fell, and the darkness faded away.

At his side, Master Sifo-Dyas appeared, and smiled. “I think I understand now,” he said. “Your path, I mean. I think I see where it’s going.”

Tup turned towards him, the lightsaber in his hand dissolving into smoke, and floating away on an unseen breeze. “And are you actually going to share this time, or are you just going to pull more of that ‘mysterious all-knowing Jedi’ crap and stand there looking wise at me until I wake up?”

Sifo-Dyas laughed. “Don’t worry, my young friend. The answers will come to you in due time. And I will be here, to guide you through what is to come.”

Tup closed his eyes, mentally counting backwards from ten in an attempt to not swear at the inscrutable Jedi Master. When he opened them again, he saw only the faintly blue darkness of the Jedi Healer’s wing at night.

“Kriffing Jedi,” Tup swore to himself. Then he turned over, and went back to sleep.


	2. Waking in a New World

The sound of the door swishing open woke Tup the next morning. He opened his eyes to see the young Rodian Jedi from his dream standing in the doorway, balancing a bowl on top of a stack of cream-colored fabric.

“Good morning, Trooper Tup,” they said cheerfully. “It is a pleasure to meet you while you’re actually conscious. May I come in?”

“Ummm...yes?” Tup said groggily.

“Thank you,” they chirped, bustling into the room as Tup sat up. They set the bowl down on a small table by the door, and then dropped the pile of clothes onto the chair next to the bed. “I am Healer Padawan Keelon Treparr. I’ve been one of your attendant Healers since you arrived here at the Temple. Master Kenobi tells me you’ve got a busy day ahead of you, so I thought I’d come in and perform your examination early. Is that alright?”

“I...yes, Healer Treparr,” Tup said, trying to straighten to an appropriate posture for receiving orders from a Jedi.

“Oh, just Keelon is fine,” they said, as pulled a datapad out of a drawer, and scrolled through the previous night’s readouts from the room’s monitors. “Now,” they said, turning to face Tup, “you’ve been unconscious for all of these sessions so far, but we have been using a type of Force scanning to monitor your condition until now. I do apologize for that, since we wouldn’t normally subject a patient to anything that invasive without consent, but given the circumstances, my Master judged it to be the only way to get you stabilized.”

Tup stared at them. “It’s fine, Healer...ah...Keelon. We clones aren’t normally asked about things in medical anyway. It’s our duty to be in the best shape possible to defend the Republic, so we hardly need to be asked about anything necessary to make that happen.”

Keelon’s mouth tightened. “Hmm. Well, we do things somewhat differently here. I can use more conventional means to examine you if you prefer to maintain a higher degree of privacy. They aren’t quite as reliable, and you might need more frequent visits to us in the coming days to ensure that we haven’t missed anything, but it is certainly your right as a sentient.”

“Ah, no, thank you,” Tup said awkwardly. “The more reliable method is fine. It’s not like I’ve got anything to hide from the Jedi, and I’d rather be back on my feet as soon as possible.”

Keelon’s expression cleared. “Excellent. In that case, this shouldn’t take long. Master Kenobi tells me you don’t have conscious control over your shielding yet. Is that correct?”

“I...think so, yes,” Tup said, remembering the feeling of all those minds coming back into his awareness when General Kenobi released his hold.

Keelon made a note on the datapad. “Fortunately, that shouldn’t pose a major problem. We’re used to working with patients whose control has been compromised by their injuries, and the techniques we use for them should translate well enough here.” They set the datapad down. “I’ll just need you to relax as much as possible, and not actively fight me when you feel my presence. I am not actually going to pierce your shields, but I will be running right up against their outer layer, which could get a little uncomfortable for us both if you try to repel me.”

Tup nodded. “I understand.”

“Then I’ll begin. Remember, relax!”

Tup took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts into the state of blank readiness that he usually found before battle. At first, he couldn’t sense anything unusual. Then, however, he felt what seemed like gentle hands running over his mind in purposeful, business-like motions. It wasn’t unpleasant, precisely, but it was certainly odd. Odder still was the realization that he _could_ actually keep those hands away if he tried. He could see it in his mind; how he could push, and disrupt the fragile balance that kept them there. It wasn’t something he had any interest in trying at the moment, but the knowledge was still intriguing.

“Hmmm, yes, good. No new inflammation, and electrical activity is down to something near a human baseline. Well, near a Jedi human baseline, anyway. Neurotransmitter levels are...mmm, may have to keep an eye on those. Not unreasonable, but still. Can’t be too careful. And...ah. Your Force presence is _much_ more consistent now.” Keelon frowned. “Has Master Kenobi been setting exercises for you already? We did tell him that you shouldn’t use those abilities until he cleared it with us.”

“No?” Tup answered, confused. “We spoke briefly last night, but he didn’t set any tasks for me other than getting some sleep.”

“Huh.” Keelon cocked their head. “That’s odd. It does seem like you’ve been exerting yourself on that front since yesterday.” Then they shrugged. “But perhaps that is just your body doing its best to heal itself. After all, we know so little of your aptitudes as of yet. Maybe this is simply one of your gifts.”

They stepped away, and the feeling of phantom hands vanished. “Well, we’ll need to continue to monitor your condition in the days to come, but I think I can safely say you’re well out of the nebula at this point, and ready to be out of this bed. Which means...”

They grabbed the bowl from the shelf and placed it in Tup’s hands. It turned out to be full of some kind of cold grain cereal, studded with juna berries. Definitely not typical clone rations.  “You should go ahead and eat, and then wash up and get dressed. There’s a sonic shower in the ‘fresher.” They gestured to a small door in the corner that Tup hadn’t previously noticed.

Then they picked up the pile of cloth from the chair. “These should fit your measurements well enough, and there are boots in your size by the door outside. Master Kenobi will be here to fetch you in a little under a rotation, so I suggest you manage your time efficiently. Have a pleasant day, Trooper Tup!”

He considered briefly trying to stop Keelon, and make _this_ Jedi tell him what in all the hells this whole thing was about, since neither his talk with General Kenobi nor his dreams of Master Sifo-Dyas had been particularly informative. But, as informal as Keelon was, Tup couldn’t ignore the fact that they were a Jedi, and they had given him orders. He had a rotation to eat, bathe, and be ready to face a whole kriffing Council of Generals. That meant questions would, once again, have to wait.

 

* * *

 

 

Most of a rotation later, Tup was tugging suspiciously at the outermost layer of the clothes Keelon had left for him, hoping that he had all of the parts on correctly. These things were far more complex than his uniform blacks. They were also, he couldn’t help but note, almost identical to things he had seen General Skywalker wear, only cut of tan silk rather than dark wool and leather. Even the boots were the same, albeit dyed a warm brown. Perhaps this was just the only style of clothing available in the Temple, but given his earlier conversations with both Keelon and General Kenobi, Tup was starting to feel _extremely_ dubious.

He was just searching around for something to tie back his hair (what was left of his hair, he noted sourly. He supposed he should have expected it, given what General Kenobi had said about brain surgery, but he had still been dismayed to look in the ‘fresher mirror and see a patch in the front shaved off) when the door opened again. General Kenobi looked Tup up and down as he came inside, carrying a heavy brown bundle under one arm. He nodded in approval.

“Those clothes suit you rather well. I thought they might. Oh, and here,” he said, offering Tup a long strip of thin brown leather. Tup took it gratefully, securing his hair up in its usual knot. Then the General shook out the bundle he carried.

“It can get rather chilly in some of the Temple corridors, and so you had best put this on as well.”

Tup stared at the robe being held out to him. The robe that was nearly identical to the one worn by the General himself.

“Sir,” he said, slowly and carefully. “The concern is certainly appreciated, but it really wouldn’t be appropriate for me to wear that. Especially not here.”

General Kenobi smiled mysteriously. “On the contrary, Tup. It would be _entirely_ appropriate. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it would be rude for you to appear before the Council without it. And you should really go ahead and put it on, so we can be on our way. We don’t want to be late, after all.”

Tup looked at the General, looked at the robe, sighed, and shrugged it on. He supposed that, with how closely the things he was already wearing resembled Jedi garb, his attire couldn’t be any more insubordinate than it already was.

That resignation became harder to maintain, however, as General Kenobi led him through the Temple. They passed beings of every age and from dozens of species from throughout the Republic, each of them dressed in tunics and robes that were not dissimilar to the ones Tup wore now. Nearly all of them stared at him as they passed, with expressions ranging from curiosity to disapproval, and even to faint hostility. Tup tried to shrink back from their view, hiding his face under the robe’s enveloping hood.

“No, Tup,” General Kenobi murmured, when he noticed Tup’s demeanor. “You don’t need to hide from them. You have nothing to feel ashamed of, and every right to be here, doing exactly what you are doing. If anyone here takes issue with that, then it is their job to reexamine their views and correct their perspective, not yours to cater to their misconceptions.”

“Sir?”

The General sighed. In a more normal tone, he continued. “None of the Jedi ever expected any of your brothers to be strong in the Force, so your gifts came as quite a surprise to all of us. There is, I’m sorry to say, a certain degree of status that the Jedi tend to attach to Force sensitivity, one which many now find themselves uncomfortable attributing to a clone.” He grimaced. “That does not, however, make them subjecting you to their discomfort acceptable. Requiring a period of adjustment is one thing, but there is no excuse for clinging to old views when the will of the Force has made itself clear. And in your case, it has made itself very clear indeed.”

They came to a stop outside of a turbo lift, and Tup turned to look at the General. “I don’t understand, sir. I’m just a clone. Sure, I’ve apparently got some abilities that the others don’t, but I don’t see how that should impact the Jedi.”

“Not one of your brothers is ‘just a clone’, Tup. Least of all you.” General Kenobi gazed fixedly at Tup, his eyes utterly serious. “You are more important than you know. Your coming into your powers in this way...well. I have a feeling that there are events at work here that are larger than any of us can yet see. The Force has presented us all with an opportunity, and I, for one, intend to see that it is not wasted.”

And somehow, despite the absurdity of that statement, Tup believed it. Perhaps it was prompting from those newly acquired senses of his, or perhaps it was merely the unshakeable confidence in the General’s eyes, but Tup found himself nodding, and standing a little straighter in his borrowed robe as they entered the lift that would carry them up to the Council chamber.

 

* * *

 

His newfound resolve was tested almost immediately, as Tup entered the Council chamber and the collective eyes of the most powerful Jedi in the Order all turned on him at once. Tup fought the instinct the shrink back from their attention, forcing himself instead to assume something like standard parade rest, though with his hands folded in front of him instead of behind, to account for the robe’s voluminous sleeves.

General Kenobi, to Tup’s surprise, did not take his Council seat. Instead, he stepped in front of Tup and to his left, as though to shield Tup somewhat from their attention. “Masters,” he said, bowing formally to the assembled Jedi.

General Windu, still in holographic form as he had been in Tup’s dream, raised an eyebrow at their appearance. “Master Kenobi, is this the clone Knight Skywalker spoke of?”

Tup may have imagined it, but General Kenobi’s posture seemed to stiffen slightly. “Yes, Master Windu. Tup is indeed the person who saved Master Tiplar’s life at Ringo Vinda. I have come to present him to the Council.”

The collected Masters exchanged looks heavy with meaning that Tup lacked the context to interpret. Master Yoda cocked his head. “Present him? An interesting choice of words, that is, for bringing him before us. Summoned, he was. Determine what is to be done with him, this Council must.”

Tup fought down a swell of sudden anxiety at those words. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong; this wasn’t some bizarre new form of court martial. General Kenobi and Keelon had both acted like this thing he had was some kind of gift (as had the dream of Master Sifo-Dyas, part of Tup’s mind pointed out), an asset which could be turned to the benefit of the Jedi and the Republic. But Tup couldn’t help but remember other clones who had been different, even in ways that seemed innocuous enough to Tup. Brothers whose minds or bodies had functioned just fine, but not in the way the Kaminoans had expected. Brothers who had been taken away, and never returned.

Before Tup could work himself fully into a panic, however, General Kenobi cleared his throat. “On the contrary, Master Yoda. I believe my wording is the traditional one for this situation. And as for this Council deciding what is to be done with Tup, that will not be necessary. I have decided to take him as my Padawan learner.”

All around Tup, the Jedi erupted into chaos. Generals whom Tup had always thought of as utterly unflappable babbled over each other, or rose out of their chairs, gesturing widely to emphasize points that couldn’t even be heard over the din, let alone understood. A few of them, Tup noted, stayed seated - General Ti, General Mundi, the Kel Dor General of the 104th whose name Tup still didn’t know, and of course, Master Yoda himself.

Tup couldn’t really blame the ones who lost their composure, though. In fact, he felt much the same as they did. A clone, taken as a Jedi Padawan? Impossible! Absurd! And yet General Kenobi seemed perfectly serious. Tup stood there, frozen amidst the conflict around him, as his mind raced.

Finally, General Windu shouted, “Enough!” In the silence that followed, he sat back down pointedly. “If the members of this Council wish to discuss Master Kenobi’s...proposal, then we will _discuss_ it, in a manner befitting our ranks and this Order.”

“This is all highly irregular,” declared the Zabrak that General Kenobi had called Master Kolar. “There are rules governing who may be taken as a Padawan, most of which this clone violates.”

“As reluctant as I am to admit it, Master Kolar is right,” General Ti said pensively. “The Code does not allow for a fully grown adult to be chosen as a Padawan learner, especially not one from outside our Order.”

“Master Ti,” General Kenobi replied smoothly. “Surely you can see that neither of those objections holds true in Tup’s case. As you well know, he and his brothers have been under the care and training of the Jedi since early childhood, the same as any other Initiate. Indeed, the oaths they swore to serve the Jedi and the Republic are more similar to the Coruscanti variant of the Initiates’ oath than those used in some of the minor outlying Temples. As I don’t recall the Code ever specifying what _kind_ of training an Initiate must receive to be eligible for Padawan status, the differences between the training we provide here and that given on Kamino cannot be considered sufficient to disqualify him. And as for the objection of his age…”

General Kenobi looked around the room, making eye contact with each Master. “The maximum age for humans to be taken as Padawans is stated in our rules to be thirteen. At nine years old, Tup is in fact rather young to be chosen.” His gaze settled on Master Yoda. “Even Anakin was older, when I took him as my student.”

“But he is a clone!” Master Kolar exclaimed.

The General rounded on him. “Yes, he is a clone. And he is also a person. A sentient being in the care of the Jedi, in whom the Force runs very strongly. And he _will_ be my Padawan, regardless of the opinions of this Council!”

Silence rang out in the chamber. Tup stared at General Kenobi in something like wonder. Was General Kenobi really defying the Jedi Council...for _Tup_? Is this what he had meant, when said that he would see that this opportunity wasn’t wasted?

His reverie was interrupted by Master Yoda clearing his throat.

“Trooper Tup, what have you to say in this matter? Wish to be trained in the ways of the Force, do you? For Master Kenobi your teacher to be?”

The part of Tup that still felt lost and overwhelmed by all of this wanted to shout that no, he couldn’t be a Jedi; he was just a clone trooper, made to serve the Jedi, and to someday die in their place so that the Republic could be free. But that thing inside him that General Kenobi insisted was the Force whispered “Peace. Be calm. This is your path, your _only_ path, and you must follow it to the end.”

So Tup cleared his throat, clenched his fists within the robe, and said (only a little shakily), “Yes. I...I do wish that.”

Master Yoda looked at Tup for a long moment, and then inclined his head. “Then teach you, he shall.” The aged Jedi looked around the room. “Discuss this more at another time we can, Masters. Need this Padawan here for that, we do not. Leave Master Kenobi to settle his new student we should, hmm?”

Half of the Jedi exchanged dubious glances. Master Kolar glared at General Kenobi mutinously. However, none of them said a word.

Before anyone could reconsider, General Kenobi bowed. “Thank you, Masters. We will take up no more of your time. I must request that I be excused from the remainder of this Council session, as my attention is needed in order to orient my new Padawan to his position.”

Master Yoda nodded, a twinkle in his eye. “Permission you have. May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi.” He turned his head slightly, and Tup could have sworn he saw him wink. “And with you, Padawan Tup.”

General Kenobi bowed and, without another word, left the Council chamber. Tup followed closely behind.

 

* * *

 

It was several minutes after they left the turbo lift and headed off into the lower levels of the Temple before either of them spoke.

“The healers have informed me that you’ve been recovering well from your surgery,” General Kenobi said. “They’ll need to continue to monitor you, of course, since nothing involving the brain can be taken lightly, but they’ve given me permission to set you up in the Padawan room in my quarters, rather than returning you to their care.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tup mumbled. Only half of his attention was focussed on the General. The other half was occupied in replaying Yoda’s words.

“ _And with you, Padawan Tup_.”

Blessed Spirits. _Padawan_. Him! Of all the kriffing things...

“I must apologize for the state of your room,” General Kenobi continued, as though oblivious to Tup’s distraction. They stopped outside of a closed door, which opened with a chime as the General keyed in the lock code. “Anakin has hardly had a free day in Temple since he was Knighted, so there’s been little time to even assign him to quarters of his own, let alone to remove the detritus. But I’m sure we’ll be able to get the droid graveyard cleared out eventually.”

Tup shrugged, as he followed the General inside. “I’m sure I’ve slept in worse.”

The main room of the General’s quarters, Tup saw, was very much like the man himself. Neatly ordered, with very few personal effects on display to reveal the nature of the one who lived there. But there were a few things that gave intriguing hints: a soft woven rug placed under the exterior window, patterned in greens and blues; a delicate plant standing in a pot by the door whose spindly fronds seemed to wave towards them as they entered; a smooth stone sitting alone on a high shelf, hints of fire glimmering under its surface. They seemed to whisper things in the Force, hints of stories that he couldn’t quite hear.

Before Tup could get caught up in trying to listen to them, the General sat down on a bench with a low, padded back in the center of the room. He gestured Tup to one of the chairs opposite.

“We’ll get started on clearing the room in a moment. First, though, there is something we need to discuss.”

Tup sat. The chair was surprisingly soft. “What about?”

The General stroked his beard, an unconscious gesture the Tup was beginning to recognize. “I...owe you an apology, for the scene back there. I should not have sprung it on you like that.”

Tup shrugged. “That’s alright, sir. I can’t pretend that I was prepared for it, exactly, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”

The General frowned. “That’s really not...I mean, I did have concerns about how some of the more conservative elements in the Council might react. It seemed prudent to place you under my own protection to ensure that they treated you as a sentient newly come into his abilities in the Force, rather than as a tool for the Jedi’s use.”

“But sir,” Tup pointed out, “I _am_ a tool for the Jedi’s use. A more effective tool now that I can do more than just shoot a blaster, sure, but-”

“No,” the General interrupted. “How many times must I tell you, Tup? You are a person. You and all your brothers. No matter what I, or the Council, or anyone in the galaxy may say of the matter.” The General’s hand dropped to his lap, to clench in the folds of his robe. “And I promise, I _will_ ensure that you are treated that way, whether you wish to be my student in truth, or merely in name. Learning to use your abilities is not a condition of my protection. I won’t make you do this against your will.”

Tup looked at him for a moment. “Permission to speak freely, General?”

The Jedi sighed. “Tup, I’ve just told you that I’m not going to force you into anything. That includes silence.” He rubbed a hand over his beard again. “And you really shouldn’t be calling me General right now. All of this is far outside of the military’s purview. Obi-Wan is just fine, or Master Obi-Wan if you really must use a title.”

“Alright,” Tup said, looking him in the eye. “Then with all due respect, _Master_ , I don’t say things I don’t mean. When I told the Council I wanted to be your student, it’s because I _do_. Look, I don’t pretend to understand even half of what’s going on here, but this feeling that you say is the Force, it’s telling me that this is _right_. Maybe it’s not what I would have chosen, and maybe I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, but I think I _have_ to learn how to use this thing inside me. And I think” he continued slowly, prodding at those feelings in his mind, “that you have to be the one to teach me to do it.”

The Ge- no, _Obi-Wan_ looked at him then, with eyes that seemed so much older than the rest of his face . “Yes,” he said at last. “That’s what I felt too.”

Then he shifted, leaning towards Tup, folding his hands in front of him. “But you must understand: there are parts of this war that you don’t know about. Parts that, honestly, we haven’t told to anyone outside of the Jedi Order. And you must understand what kind of danger you would be setting yourself up for. This war...it’s not merely a matter of political dissent. For some time now, the Jedi have had reason to believe that the whole matter is being orchestrated one of our most ancient enemies: the Sith.”

A chill ran through Tup.

“What’s a Sith?”

“A Sith is…” Obi-Wan sat back, considering his answer. “They are I suppose, our opposite. A Jedi’s strength flows from the Light Side of the Force. Compassion, mercy, self-sacrifice: these are our guiding principles. A Sith, though…” he shook his head. “The Sith thrive on chaos, fear, and pain. They are masters of the Dark Side of the Force, and will always use it to seek power above all else. It is the duty of every Jedi to oppose the Dark Side wherever we find it. And so, the Sith would see us destroyed.”

Tup shivered. The Force seemed to murmur warnings into the silence following Obi-Wan’s words, whispers of terrible things hiding just out of his sight. Unbidden, the image of the cloaked man from his nightmares came into his mind.

“But how do you know it _is_ the Sith?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Hints of the Sith’s presence can found in nearly every aspect of this conflict, but even if that were not the case, I have the evidence of my own senses.” He shifted uncomfortably, as though lost in unpleasant memories. “I have, over the course of the War, found myself in the company of Count Dooku on several occasions. He was a Jedi, once, and was ranked among our greatest Masters. But to feel his presence in the Force now...no. There can be no doubt. Count Dooku has given himself over to the Sith, and I fear he may not be the only one.”

Then he straightened, his hands dropping to his lap. “So you can see, Tup, there are risks involved in becoming a Jedi, risks that are perhaps even greater than those you have faced as a soldier.”

Tup took a breath, and straightened. “I can’t pretend that the idea doesn’t terrify me, but I know my duty, and I know what the Force is telling me. If you will have me, then I will be your student, and a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his face tired, but proud. “Then there’s something I should do for you.”

He stood, coming over to Tup. With gentle hands, he untied the leather thong holding Tup’s hair, letting it fall free over the clone’s shoulders. He separated out one lock from behind Tup’s right ear, and braided it. From somewhere in his robes, he pulled out a length of yellow thread, bound the end of the braid, and then laid a hand on Tup’s shoulder.

“I take you, Tup, to be my Padawan learner. I promise to guide you, to protect you, and to show you the path of the Force as it was shown to me. May you always walk in the Light.”

Tup’s breath caught, as something coalesced around them, weaving a connection between him and Jedi Master. The weight of the Force hung over them both, heavy and portentous. For a moment, the universe held still, balanced on some precipice, and Tup was unsure which way it would fall.

Then a chime sounded at the door, and the feeling shattered. Obi-Wan looked up, and Tup (with no small amount of wonder at the sensation) sensed him reaching out with a tendril of the Force to identify the minds waiting outside. A ripple of delight echoed down their newly-made connection. Obi-Wan smiled, squeezed Tup’s shoulder again, and headed for the door.

“We still have much to discuss, Padawan, but I think it will have to wait until later. At the moment, we have company.”

Obi-Wan palmed the release mechanism, and the door swished open...to reveal Fives and Rex. Both of them sported small, freshly-healed scars along their hairlines, and patches of shaved scalp to match. Tup hardly noticed more of Rex than that though, because the moment Fives crossed the threshold, he was barrelling across the room, throwing himself onto Tup and nearly oversetting the chair.

“Tup!,” he exclaimed. “Tup’ika, cyar’ika! I was so worried, ner kar'ta.” Without giving him a chance to reply, Fives pressed him down into the chair, and kissed him soundly. Tup’s hands came up almost automatically, one wrapping around the back of Fives’ neck, and the other tangling in his shirt, as he sank into the kiss.

Obi-Wan coughed pointedly behind them, and Tup broke off, blushing and trying to push Fives off of him enough to regain at least a semblance of decency. He only succeeded in dumping Fives onto the floor in between Tup’s legs, which...really, didn’t look any better than having him in Tup’s lap, actually.

Obi-Wan smirked. “You two clearly need some privacy, and Rex and I have, ah, some matters to discuss, so we’ll just move into my sleeping quarters, and leave the pair of you to it. Your training starts in the morning, Tup, so please do take care not to overexert yourself.”

Tup had not thought it possible to blush harder than he already was. He was wrong. “Ah, y-yes, sir. I mean, uh, Master. That is...yes. I will..do that.”

“See that you do,” Obi-Wan laughed, heading off through one of the side doors leading from the room. Rex, Tup noted vaguely, followed him _very_ closely. As the pair of them disappeared from sight, he thought he saw their hands twine together.

That realization quickly passed out of his brain again as Fives slid his hands onto Tup’s thighs. They weren’t quite veering into the territory normally reserved for abandoned barracks and out-of-the-way storage closets, but it was certainly distracting.

Fives grinned up at him. “You look good, Tup. A hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you, anyway. Clearly, this whole Temple life thing agrees with you. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like a Jedi yourself!”

“Ummm, about that…” Tup drew in a breath. “Look, I know it’s going to sound crazy, but...I am. A Jedi, I mean. As of about an hour ago.”

Fives stared at him, the grin wiped from his face. “You’re... _what_?”

Tup rubbed a hand over his face, then stopped, and looked at it. Huh. Was he really picking up his Master’s gestures already? Then he turned his eyes back to his lover.

“It’s sort of a long story. Too long for you to sit there looking at me like that.” Tup stood, pulling Fives up with him, and settled them both onto the bench together. He grabbed Fives’ hand, holding it like a lifeline.

And then Tup told him everything. About the headaches and strange sensations that had begun on the eve of battle on Ringo Vinda. How he’d known what that clanker who almost took out General Tiplar was going to do, even before he saw it. What the strange dreams had shown him, in the days he’d lain unconscious. Then he explained to Fives what that thing the Jedi Healers had pulled out of all their heads had been _doing_ , how it had blocked Tup off from the Force, and how it’s failure had released that block, while nearly killing Tup in the process. Finally he told Fives what had happened before the Jedi Council. What Obi-Wan had said. What Tup had decided.

When he was done, Fives was quiet for several minutes, while Tup tried hard not show his apprehension. He knew that he had to do this; both his own sense of duty and the promptings of the Force were very clear. But if he lost Fives over it…

Then Fives brought his free hand up to stroke Tup’s cheek, and smiled. It wasn’t his usual shit-eating grin, the one that promised trouble to anyone who stuck around long enough see it. This was something tender, and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Well,” Fives said at last. “This explains a lot. I knew from the moment I met you, Tup’ika, that I belonged with you. This just means I belong _to_ you as well. The clones were made for the Jedi, right? Well, I guess I was made for you.”

Fives meant it to be romantic. Tup knew that. It was just the kind of over-the-top declaration that Fives would vehemently deny ever making if any of their brothers ever asked, but would whisper in Tup’s ear every night, as they snuck into one another’s bunks, to hold each other in the dark. But still...a shiver of disquiet ran through Tup at his words. Fives wasn’t like a bucket or a blaster; he couldn’t _belong_ to Tup like some kind of _thing_. The idea that someone could see Fives that way, that Fives could see _himself_ that way, just because Tup could feel the Force now...it left a sour taste in Tup’s throat.

He tried to open his mouth to say something to Fives, to tell him that this didn’t change anything between them. But then Fives grinned, and drew him in.

“You know,” he murmured, in between little, biting kisses, “I’ve always wanted to see what a Jedi was like in bed. General Skywalker’s married, though, and Rex might just kill me if I asked to share General Kenobi, so I think I’d better take this opportunity while I can, yeah?”

Then he stood up, pulling Tup by their joined hands through the other door on the far wall, and into the Padawan quarters. Tup noted vaguely that Obi-Wan was right; it _did_ look like a droid graveyard in here. It would seem that General Skywalker’s habit of tinkering with every mouse droid and astromech he could get his hands on wasn’t limited to long hours aboard his battleship.

But then Fives was kissing him again, licking hungrily into Tup’s mouth, and putting his hands all kinds of interesting places, and Tup couldn’t particularly bring himself to care. Cleaning, discussion, and vague disquieting thoughts could all wait for later.

 


	3. Training

Sunlight drifted in through the high windows of the meditation room, painting the plain furnishings and blank walls in soft shades of gold. Which was really Tup’s first clue that this was another dream. In his first month as a Jedi Padawan, Tup had learned well that what little sunlight got through Coruscant’s polluted atmosphere was almost never visible from the meditation chambers. Privately, he suspected that whatever long-dead Jedi had designed the Temple had done that on purpose, to prevent the lure of fine weather from distracting restless minds from the important task of learning to control their own thoughts and abilities.

It was, Tup reflected ruefully, difficult enough to learn control _without_ distractions. Master Obi-Wan had been incredibly generous with his time ever since Tup was cleared for more strenuous activity by the Healers (unbelievably so, the part of Tup that still thought of himself as just another clone trooper added), trying to give Tup a solid grounding in all the basics that other Padawans picked up as Initiates. Normally, of course, those skills would be taught over the course of years. Even General Skywalker, Obi-Wan had assured him, had taken over a year to solidly master the skills that Tup was trying to force into his brain in a matter of weeks. But there was simply no _time_. Every moment that he was at the Temple teaching Tup was another moment that Obi-Wan was not in the field. And that was a moment that Tup’s brothers, and the war as a whole, could not afford.

Fives was still stationed at the Temple with Tup, recovering, ostensibly, from lingering dizziness related to the chip removal surgery. Given Fives’ complete lack of noticeable symptoms, and the meaningful looks Tup regularly caught him exchanging with Master Obi-Wan, Tup suspected that this was more of a polite fiction, to allow Tup and Fives to remain together for a little while longer, than it was anything else.

Rex, however, had returned to combat weeks ago. Tup couldn’t pretend that a part of him wasn’t jealous. Oh, not of being sent back to into the field and away from his lover (whatever Rex and Obi-Wan might pretend to in public, Tup wasn’t an idiot. He had _seen_ the looks on their faces when they’d said goodbye). But Tup would give a great deal to be doing his job again, working to end the war and bring peace to the Republic. Whatever else he may be now, Tup was still a clone. He wasn’t made to sit safe and idle on Coruscant while others fought.

Not, of course, that Tup was actually idle. No, nearly every waking moment was devoted to one kind of training or another. Some types of this training were more successful than others, though. Lightsaber combat, it turned out, came to him easily enough. He never felt the Force more strongly than when he had a blade in his hands. It made sense, Master Obi-Wan had said; Tup had fought his whole life, and had likely been accessing the Force in combat for some time, even before his abilities fully manifested.

Other skills, however, were proving stubbornly elusive. Tup had spent countless hours in a chamber much like the one his dream was showing him now, meditating and trying to find that sense of internal balance that Obi-Wan kept talking about, one which would allow him to access and control his less tangible Force abilities. For most of that, his Master had been there beside him, trying to show the methods through explanation or demonstration. In spite of this, Tup’s skill in even such basics as conscious control of his shielding had developed at a pace that was glacial at best.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Tup didn’t bother to turn around. He knew who he would see if he did. Like the hours of meditation, these dream visitations had become a constant of life in the Jedi Temple.

“You did very well going through your katas today, Padawan,” Master Sifo-Dyas said. “It’s incredible, that you’ve progressed so much in so little time. I’ve never seen someone pick up the ‘saber so quickly.”

“But?” Tup replied, hearing the caveat in the ghost’s voice.

Sifo-Dyas came around in front of Tup, folding himself down onto the floor in a lotus position that mirrored Tup’s own. “But your mental control is still lacking, especially when it comes to your defenses.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Tup muttered, the irritation in his voice coming through in spite of his best intentions to the contrary. “I do actually pay attention during those lessons, you know.”

SIfo-Dyas raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a criticism, Tup. Under normal circumstances, your rate of progress would satisfy any Master in the Order. I know that young Kenobi has already told you this, but these things normally take years to learn, so coming even this far in the span of a few weeks is exceptional.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances.”

Tup deflated a little. “Yeah. It’s just...I feel like I _should_ be getting this faster, you know? We were made to learn more quickly than natural born humans. I don’t know why it’s just not coming together.”

Sifo-Dyas cocked his head a little. “It might, perhaps, have to do with the philosophy behind the mental disciplines. The methods taught by the Order require a strong sense of ownership and control of the self.” He paused, seeming to consider his words carefully, then continued. “From what you’ve told me, you and your brothers were never encouraged to cultivate that kind of independence of thought.”

Tup fought the urge to scowl. It was an argument that he and the Jedi ghost had had several times already, and not one he had any desire to rehash. Especially not since Tup was beginning to suspect that Sifo-Dyas had a point. Tup had tried to explain to him that obedience to orders was a necessary trait to instill in soldiers, in order for discipline to be maintained. Sifo-Dyas had insisted in turn that the right to control of one’s own mind was fundamental to all sentients, and that no degree of military expediency could justify stripping the clones of that. It was not a comfortable thought for Tup, and that discomfort was a distraction he could ill afford right now.

Fortunately for them both, Sifo-Dyas apparently decided not to press that point any further today. “Regardless of the reason, the fact remains that you need to learn to defend your mind against attack, and quickly. It is a skill that far too few Jedi possess, and one that even fewer are actually prepared to exercise at any given moment. I have a terrible feeling that, if we wait for you to do so in your own time, the ability may come to you too late.”

The words seemed to resonate in the Force around them. Instinctively, Tup reached out his awareness towards the sensation. Yes, Sifo-Dyas was right. There was something coming, something that Tup could almost bring into focus, if he just concentrated on it a little more…

“Tup!” Sifo-Dyas barked, sending a mental jolt running across Tup’s shields, like a light mental slap.

Tup sighed. “I got lost in it again, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you most certainly did,” Sifo-Dyas confirmed. “And that’s part of what I’m talking about. Losing yourself in your visions would be dangerous enough if you were a Temple-bound youngling. In an active combat situation, it could easily get you killed.”

“If you have any suggestions, I’d be happy to hear them.” Tup shrugged. “Because I don’t know what more I can do, at this point.”

“There is...something I could try,” Sifo-Dyas said. “A way I could show you directly how to control your abilities. You would still need to practice, of course, to strengthen the techniques and make them instinctive, but it would given you the same level of grounding as most Padawans have when they enter the field.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Tup exclaimed. “What do you need to me to do? Just-”

“Not so fast, Padawan,” Sifo-Dyas cautioned, holding up a hand. “There is a reason I haven’t offered up until now. The method I’m talking about...well, it could be rather uncomfortable for us both. I would need to share my own memories of learning the techniques with you. Such a sharing is often indiscriminate. It is very likely that you would receive memories of far more than just my training. The experience will very likely be invasive, and quite overwhelming. Not to mention…” He coughed. “Not to mention potentially awkward.”

Tup straightened. “Master Sifo-Dyas, you said it yourself. There isn’t time for me to learn this the old-fashioned way. There is a war going on out there. A war I can’t fight in until the Jedi say I’m cleared to leave Coruscant. I can handle a little discomfort if it means you can get me to that point.”

The ghost looked at Tup closely, then bowed his head. “Then it will be so.” The image of the training room dissolved around them, leaving only a formless gray mist. Sifo-Dyas raised his head again.

“Try to relax, Padawan. This won’t take long.”

He reached out a hand, touching one fingertip to Tup’s forehead. Around them, the world exploded in a wash of color and sound.

Afterward, Tup would be hard-pressed to describe the experience. A thousand memories seemed to play out in his mind simultaneously, then settle into place as if they had always been there. Many of those memories were of life in the Temple. Of looking up at vaulted ceilings in wonder, from a position close to the ground, and knowing for the first time what it was to belong somewhere. Of meditating in a circle of other younglings, feeling the strength radiating from a Master Tup recognized as Yoda, as he directed their efforts. Of curling up in a pile of those same younglings after a day of lessons, their shared dreams a pleasant background hum that lulled him to sleep. Recollections of philosophy classes mingled with lessons on history and astronavigation. In one of memory, a gentle old Bith called him Padawan, and admonished him to try reaching out to isolate and examine a single vision from the stream that came to him in the Force. In another, that same Bith Master cut his Padawan braid, and told him she had never been more proud in her life. Then there were the missions, one after another after another, negotiations and arbitrations and infiltrations that blended together into the monolithic whole that was his duty. And through it all, the Force: singing to him, whispering reassurances or warnings in his ear, shining on his face like sunlight or drenching him like the thunderstorms Tup remembered from his cadet years on Kamino.

There was one other constant in those memories, though. A dark-haired, aristocratic Jedi, first a boy, then a man, who stood at his side. Tup remembered meeting the boy, ( _Jard_ , the memories murmured, _his name is Jard_ ) and knowing in a flash of vision that no one would ever be more important to him. He remembered training alongside the boy, of sharing lessons and meditation sessions and sparring matches. He argued philosophy with Jard, poked holes in his more outrageous leaps of logic, and laughed at those dry, deadpan jokes that no one else ever quite seemed to catch. He worked beside him, as together they took missions so difficult or dangerous that neither could hope to complete them alone. He felt his heart warm at every triumphant smile Jard gave him when they completed those missions, snatching impossible victories from the jaws of defeat time and time again.

And he remembered loving him. Remembered the taste of Jard’s mouth and the feel of his body pressed against his. The moments of tenderness and intimacy, snatched in dark out-of-the-way corners, and in the rare moments when their duty took them beyond the scrutiny of the Order and the Republic. The gasps of passion that he swallowed, terrified that this time they would be overheard, that someone would know what they had done, how they had betrayed everything the Jedi stood for. He remembered feeling like his heart would break every time they parted, but wondering all the same if this would be the time he was strong enough not to come back, to finally let Jard go free so they could both be the Jedi the Order needed.

And then, abruptly, the rush of memories cut off, leaving Tup gasping and shaking, seated once more in the featureless gray mist. Across from him, Sifo-Dyas sat utterly still, tears running down his face. With the small part of his mind that wasn’t reeling from the impact of the memories he had just received, Tup wondered how it was possible for a ghost to cry.

“Breathe,” Sifo-Dyas instructed, his voice level in spite of the pain displayed on his face. “Close your eyes, and concentrate just on the rhythm of your breaths. You may be dreaming, but you are still controlling your body right now, and that body needs air.”

With effort, Tup obeyed, forcing his breathing into a more regular rhythm. As he did so, the immediacy of the emotions brought on by the memories faded. With that calm came the realization: whatever unintended effects the memory transfer might have had, it had _worked_. That serenity Obi-Wan had been describing to him, which had felt so elusive before, now seemed obvious, lying patiently in wait for Tup to reach out and surround himself with it. Everything else followed naturally from there: shielding, controlling the timing of his visions, repelling mental attacks. All of it built upon that same foundation.

When Tup opened his eyes again, the evidence of tears was gone from Sifo-Dyas’ face as if it had never been there, and the ghost was once again the serene Jedi Master who regularly visited Tup’s dreams. He looked closely at Tup, and then smiled in satisfaction.

“Good. You’ll need to practice with Kenobi, of course, but that should be enough for tonight. I dare say you’ll need rest after this anyway.”

Tup tried to find to the words to tell Sifo-Dyas about what he had seen, to ask had happened to Jard, or why what they had been to each other was so very wrong, but he couldn’t figure out where even to begin. So instead, he bowed, as the memories told him a Jedi student should bow to one who has shared their wisdom.

“Thank you, Master Sifo-Dyas.”

“You’re welcome, Padawan Tup,” Sifo-Dyas replied. “Now, off to sleep with you. Proper sleep.”

Tup blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes again, he back in his bed in the Temple, Fives wrapped tightly around him like some kind of multi-limbed cephalopod. Apparently, whatever degree of disturbance his dream had caused in the waking world, it wasn’t enough to wake his lover.

Tup breathed deeply, bringing up a hand to stroke Fives’ hair. Sifo-Dyas had been right; overwhelming didn’t even begin to describe having a dead Jedi’s memories dumped into his head in an instant. It was that last set of memories, though, that lingered in his thoughts. So that was what it was like to be in love, among the Jedi? Tup couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. The shame and the secrecy of it all, what was the point? There was nothing twisted about the love Jard and Sifo-Dyas had shared, from what Tup had seen. They were equals in all things, with no issues of rank or power standing between them. They had broken no promises to anyone else that Tup had seen, and their love had, in fact, seemed to make them stronger in the field. So why had they hidden it like that?

The unease in his thoughts, however, could not hold out against the bone-deep exhaustion the memory sharing had left behind. When Tup slipped once more into sleep a few moments later, he didn’t dream.

 

* * *

 

Master Sifo-Dyas’ gift proved itself effective over the week that followed. With the basic principles now firmly fixed in his mind, Tup’s rate of progress in mastering more advanced techniques trebled. Hours spent in the meditation chambers were no longer an exercise in frustration. Instead of being stifled by the enforced stillness, Tup found himself looking forward to it. Meditation was a chance, not only to practice the techniques that Obi-Wan had been trying to explain to him, but also to work over lingering problems that troubled his thoughts, which the demands of war had never given him the time or energy to do anything but repress.

Problems like the status of his brothers. Tup had always had a vague sense that there was something wrong with the system which governed the lives of the clones, but it had been easy enough to dismiss the worst parts as the necessities of war. Jedi like General Skywalker commanded Tup and his brothers honorably after all, with care for their lives and well being, and surely even the apparent callousness of the Kaminoans in culling defective brothers was surely just one of those hard choices that must be made to achieve victory.  

Then Umbara had happened. And all those doubts that he had successfully set aside had forced their way to the surface, and refused to be pushed down again.

It was not, in retrospect, completely surprising that a monster like Krell could exist. Tup had seen in Sifo-Dyas’ memories how even a Jedi who largely respected the Code could hide transgressions, if they were sufficiently motivated. How much easier would it be for someone like Krell, who had no conscience to speak of?

But that didn’t excuse how thoroughly the chain of command had left Tup and his brothers at Krell’s mercy. There should have been _some_ way for the 501st to spot and report that _demagolka_ before he killed so many of their number. Or, at the very least, some way to deal with him that didn’t condemn whoever actually did the deed to decommissioning.

Not that the Kaminoans had actually gotten as far as decommissioning Dogma, for which Tup was intensely grateful. The shuttle carrying Dogma, Waxer, and all of the others who were badly wounded enough that the Kaminoans would just liquidate them rather than trying to put them back together had gone mysteriously missing en route, and Master Obi-Wan had been notably vague when called on to investigate the disappearance. The 212th’s medic had been with them, and Boil had been at the helm in spite of having only the basic piloting certifications, so it was likely that no one was really fooled by the charade, but it gave everyone enough plausible deniability to let the matter go. Tup, for his part, had no idea where he and General Skywalker had sent them, and he didn’t _want_ to. It was enough to know that, wherever they were, they would be taken care of.

It hadn’t, however, been enough to quell Tup’s doubts. And now, with his mental control improving every day, he was becoming more and more convinced that the Jedi must share those doubts. There weren’t many clones in the Temple right now beyond Tup and Fives, but there were enough who made brief visits for Tup to compare their presences in the Force. He had discovered that, although he and his brother may look alike, in the Force they were completely unique. Even more tellingly, there was no distinguishing trait between the Force presence of a clone and that of a naturally born human.

Which left only one conclusion: Obi-Wan was right. Sifo-Dyas was right. Tup and his brothers were sentients just like any others. They were _people_. And the Jedi knew that. Had, in fact, known it all along.

That begged the question: how could they support a system in which the lives of clones were treated as disposable? It had been the subject of many hours of meditation for Tup in the last week, though he was no closer to an answer than he had been before.

Today, though, was not a day for such heavy thoughts. Obi-Wan had taken Tup’s breakthrough in mental control in stride, offering no comment at the sudden change in his abilities, beyond a raised eyebrow. He had, however, begun introducing lessons which combined mental and physical disciplines. Which, much to Tup’s delight, included armed sparring.

Tup had returned from a morning philosophy class to find their shared quarters empty (and _why_ the Jedi Council had mandated he study philosophy when there were so many other things he urgently needed to master to return to the war, Tup didn’t know, but Obi-Wan had advised him that some battles with the Council really weren’t worth fighting). He hadn’t bother to change out of his tunics, since his Master insisted that he learn to fight in the same uniform he would be wearing in the field, but he had clipped on his lightsaber (newly completed a couple of days ago, after Obi-Wan had successfully convinced the training Masters that the usual trip to Ilum could be foregone in Tup’s case, and gotten him access to the Temple’s crystal supply), and thrown together a quick meal, when Obi-Wan stomped into their quarters, his face like a thunderstorm.

Tup nearly dropped his plate. “Master Obi-Wan, what-”

“It’s not you, Tup,” Obi-Wan reassured him. “We’re going to have to cancel this afternoon’s spar, though, because our presence is apparently required elsewhere.” He looked Tup over. “Finish eating that, then go put on your tabards and robe. Leave your lightsaber, though. If they insist on summoning my Padawan, then we are going to make it clear that it is a Jedi whose time they have demanded.”

“And _they_ would be…” Tup prompted.

Obi-Wan glowered. “The kriffing Senate.”

Then he sighed, and slumped down onto one of the chairs in the small dining area of their quarters’ cooking unit. “It would seem that word of your gifts and your presence here in the Temple has reached the wise leaders of the Republic, and now certain parties are calling for an order of ‘additional clone units of that particular model.’ The Kaminoans are trying to claim that the Jedi are preventing that, by withholding their intellectual property, and are demanding that we return their prototype.”

Tup went cold, and he felt all the blood drain from his face. He swallowed. “I will, of course, obey the orders of the Senate, but-”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “We’re not turning you over to anyone, much less the Kaminoans. Master Tii has already communicated to them the Order’s official position that we will not stand for any attempts to create an army of ‘disposable Jedi’, as they’ve been calling it. And even if the Order weren’t backing me on this one, I swore to guide and protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do, damn it all!”

He took a deep breath, and continued at a more reasonable volume. “No, we’re not going before the Senate in order to comply with their ridiculous requests. Senator Amidala shares our outrage at this turn of events. She has introduced a counter bill declaring all clones to be citizens of the Republic, and no one’s property. If it passes, it would grant you and your brothers full sentient rights protections. The bill has already passed out of committee, and is being debated on the main floor. Some of her opponents are calling for your presence at these debates, and by extension, mine as well.”

Obi-Wan looked up at Tup. “You are a Jedi Padawan. You can be compelled to appear before the Senate, but you cannot be made to testify, nor can they pass any binding resolution regarding you without the cooperation of the Jedi Council. But we-” he paused. “ _I_ am asking you to do this. I will not force you, and there will be no consequences for you if you refuse, but your testimony could shift the balance in the bill’s favor.”

And once more, Tup thought of Umbara. He thought about the brothers culled as ‘faulty merchandise’ before they ever even met a Jedi. He thought about the ones who were assigned near-suicidal missions when they were fresh off of Kamino, for no crime other than asking too many questions. He thought about Hardcase, and Waxer, and Echo, who he had never had the chance to meet, but whose name Fives still murmured during nightmares.  And he thought about what would come after the war, when the Republic, who saw them as little more than clankers, no longer needed them. Slowly, Tup nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll do it. Whatever I can, if it will help.”

Obi-Wan smiled, the expression tight, but proud. “Good man. Eat, and get dressed, then we’ll go.”

 

* * *

 

They were both quiet in the hovercar over to the Senate building. Obi-Wan, Tup suspected, was trying to give him space to organize his thoughts, and prepare for the humiliating questions the more hostile beings of the Senate were likely to throw his way. But Tup honestly wasn’t sure _how_ to prepare. He doubted that an appeal to the Senators’ better natures would have any other effect than making him look hopelessly naive. He believed in the Republic; since before he was decanted, he had been taught about its nobility and strength, how it had allowed so many diverse peoples to live together in relative peace for thousands of years. And he could still see it, sometimes; when they freed a world unwillingly occupied by the Separatists, or when they assisted in disaster relief, or when frightened civilians ran toward them on the battlefield, sure that the GAR would protect them.

What he didn’t believe in, though, was the leaders of that Republic. How often had he heard General Skywalker ranting about their petty squabbles and ineffectuality? How many times had some military offensive failed because the politicians couldn’t agree on a course of action in time for it to actually make a difference? And now these same leaders wanted to create a whole batch of Force Sensitive clones...for what? To ensure that they had tools with the power of the Jedi, but without their ability to refuse to use it on ethical grounds? Perhaps. The Force seemed to whisper other possibilities to him, though. Darker ones. _Maybe the Senate isn’t looking to supplement to the Jedi. Maybe it’s looking to replace them..._

Regardless, he wasn’t going to be able to appeal to their good sense or high morals. Which meant that he somehow needed to tell them that it was in their own self interest to allow the clones the same rights of self-determination granted to every other sentient in the Republic. The problem was, he had no idea _how_ to do that…

Around them, the Force suddenly screamed a warning, scattering Tup’s thoughts and sending him lurching sideways. The squeal of blaster fire rang out, and the cabin of the hovercar filled with the smell of burnt plasteel.

“What in the-” Obi-Wan started, but broke off as something impacted the side of the hovercar with a heavy thump, sending it tumbling out of its designated air lane altogether.

Tup clutched the armrest of his seat, instinctively reaching out to the Force to stabilize the vehicle’s trajectory, even as he felt Obi-Wan do the same. Wind whistled through the hole in the hovercar’s canopy, and the lights of Coruscant spun around them in a chaotic whirl.

“What hit us?” Tup yelped, most of his concentration focussed on slowing their rotation.

“Sniper,” Obi-Wan shouted back over the whine of the hovercar’s overburdened stabilizer. “And that second one might have been a speeder bike. I didn’t get a good look. ”

“Right.” Tup pushed a little more, and the hovercar righted itself. “Can you get us landed, Master? I don’t like the idea of trying to defend our position out in the open like this.”

“On it,” Obi-Wan bit out, guiding their damage vehicle towards the nearest ledge that wasn’t full of gaping pedestrians. Tup fought down the urge to swear when he saw how poorly the ledge in question was lit. That was _not_ going to be easy to defend. It was still better that sitting here out in the open like dazed mynocks, though, so Tup said nothing.

The instant their hovercar came to a stop, though, Tup hammered the release on the canopy, and dragged them both out of the cab, to hunker down behind the car’s bulk. Obi-Wan squawked out some kind of protest, then abruptly cut off as another blaster bolt sizzled past.

“It would seem we have company,” Obi-Wan said, drawing his lightsaber and igniting it in one smooth motion. Tup followed his example, fighting off the urge to giggle inappropriately at the exasperation in that voice.

“It would seem so,” he agreed. “You should probably comm the Temple, General. I mean, ah, Master. We’re going to need back up.”

Obi-Wan peeked up over the top of the hovercar, then crouched quickly back down, biting off a curse. “I don’t think we’re going to have time for that.”

Tup risked a look himself, and his eyes widened as he saw the swoop bikes converging on them from all sides. He deflected another blaster bolt with his lightsaber, and dropped back down beside Obi-Wan.

“That’s a lot of swoop bikes,” Tup muttered, wishing he had a blaster of his own on him. Lightsabers were all well and good, but faced with these odds, Tup really would have prefered a more familiar weapon in hand. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, sir.”

Obi-Wan barked out a laugh. “You have a talent for understatement, Padawan.”

Then his expression hardened. “In all seriousness, I don’t think we’re going to have much choice. Our assailants have chosen the spot for their ambush well. I activated the hovercar’s emergency beacon when we were hit, but I’m afraid we’re still outside the Senate Guard’s jurisdiction, in a rather large gap between the patrol routes of the two nearest planetary police precincts.  It will be at least five minutes before anyone from the Temple can get here. Do you think you can hold out for that long?”

“Against a bunch of hardened swoopers, with ten-to-one odds, armed only with a weapon I had never even held a couple of months ago?” Tup smirked. “Sure. Should be easy. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Obi-Wan said. “Now, on the count of three. One...two…”

And then, in unison, they sprung out from behind the hovercar, just as the first of the swoopers reached the ledge.

Actual combat with a lightsaber wasn’t much like katas, Tup thought, as he drove his blade into the engine of one of the bikes before its driver had the chance to properly land, Force-shoving it off the edge to explode in open air. There was no graceful economy of footwork, no wide sweeping motions. Lightsaber combat was, it turned out, very much like any other form of combat: quick, brutal, and no place at all for fancy tricks.

He spun around, catching a Trandoshan coming at him from behind with a vibroblade by surprise. Tup’s first strike took care of the vibroblade, and his follow through took care of the hand that had wielded it. The Trandoshan bellowed in pain and rushed Tup, the claws of his remaining hand outstretched. Tup ducked, thrusting his blade upward, sending it straight through the Trandoshan’s chest.

The reptilian being gurgled, then fell. Tup hardly noticed, already turning his focus to the two humans rushing him from either side.

It was odd, Tup thought vaguely, as he deflected both of their blaster bolts, striking one of the attackers in the abdomen with the ricochet. Master Obi-Wan was obviously the more important one here. He was the High General, the face of the war and a member of the Jedi Council. So why, then, were most of their attackers focussing on Tup?

Even odder, he thought, as he sent the other human flying over the edge of the platform, and engaged an Aqualish that followed close behind. None of these swoopers seemed to be actually trying to _kill_ him. What, did they think they would be able to capture a Jedi Padawan and sell him to the Seppies for fat bounty? On Coruscant itself? Not karking likely.

A sudden lance of pain burned through Tup’s left shoulder, and he screamed, dropping to the ground. He held onto his lightsaber, barely, and managed to deflect a second shot back at the Weequay who’d hit him. Kriff, kriff, kriff! He’d let himself get distracted, and he hadn’t heard the warning the Force had tried to give him. _This is what happens when you’re out of combat for a month_ , he thought bitterly. _You start to lose your edge_.

One of their attackers, a Duros male, by the look of him, stepped in front of Tup, raising a blaster to his forehead and smirking.

“Give it up, clone,” the Duros drawled. “We’ve been paid a handsome sum for you, and I’m going to collect. If you behave, I might even get that bonus and bring you in alive.”

Before Tup could reply, however, the Duros’ expression changed from smug to shocked, as a blue lightsaber blade appeared through his chest. The Duros stared, and then collapsed wordlessly, revealing Obi-Wan’s worried face.

“Are you alright, Padawan?” Tup’s Master asked urgently, running a hand over Tup to check for injuries. Tup yelped as the movement jostled his wound.

“It’s just a blaster burn to the shoulder,” Tup said through gritted teeth. “The others?”

“Taken care of,” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing absently over his shoulder, where civilian police were rounding up the few survivors of the swoop gang. “It would seem that I overestimated the response time of the sector authorities. Don’t worry about that though.”

His eyes searched over Tup, as though checking for any more serious injuries which Tup might have concealed. His worry drifted through their training bond, lingering in Tup’s Force sense like the smell of smoke. Finally, Obi-Wan nodded, crouching down and placing Tup’s uninjured arm over his shoulders, taking some his weight as he helped him stand.

“Come on Padawan,” he said. “Master Windu informs me that the Order sent another hovercar, once that’s actually armored this time, and it should be here any moment. I want you on it as soon as possible.” Tup couldn’t see his Master’s face, but he could feel the scowl through their training bond. “Preferably before something _else_ goes wrong.”

Tup bit back another hiss of pain, as he let Obi-Wan lead him over to the platform edge, where a military-grade hovercar was touching down. The mirrored canopy lifted, revealing a very unhappy-looking Fives at the helm.

“I let you out of my sight for an hour, Tup. An _hour_. How did you manage to go and get yourself shot in the middle of a busy Coruscant airway in an _hour_?”

Tup grimaced. “I don’t know, Fives. But I intend to find out.”

 

* * *

 

The Healers were not particularly pleased to see Tup back, so soon after being released from their custody. Fives and Obi-Wan had brought Tup straight to the Healers wing as soon as they arrived at the Temple, and the three of them had been directed to one of the smaller treatment rooms, accompanied by several pointed comments about “reckless Jedi who can’t keep themselves in one piece for more than a few weeks at a time.” They had no sooner gotten Tup settled on the medbed when Keelon walked in, look absolutely livid.

“You haven’t even been sent out on a mission yet!” they exclaimed, as they slammed a cleaning basin and an assortment of bandages, disinfectants, and medical tools down onto a small portable work table, with a good deal more force than was necessary.

“Tell me about it,” Tup muttered, trying to focus on anything but his shoulder. He might have a clone’s enhanced pain tolerance, but that didn’t mean blaster burns didn’t hurt like a son of a rancor.

Tup suspected that, under other circumstances, Keelon might well have taken that as an actual invitation to start ranting. However, just as Keelon opened their mouth to let loose, Master Windu appeared at the doorway. The Rodian Healer Padawan had therefore contented themself with muttering invectives under their breath, as they began to cut away the ruined sleeves of Tup’s robe and tunic.

“How are you doing, Padawan?” Master Windu asked, looking closely at Tup.

“Well enough, sir,” Tup said, trying to straighten, only to have Keelon hiss at him to ’hold still, unless you want me to make this worse.’ “It was only a blaster burn, and it didn’t hit anything vital.”

“Glad to hear it,” Master Windu replied, and there was something in his tone that Tup couldn’t quite interpret. “Master Kenobi, a word?”

“I’m a little busy, Mace,” Obi-Wan hadn’t really stopped scowling since he’d helped Tup into the Temple hovercar back on that platform, but now that scowl deepened even more. “In case you haven’t noticed, my Padawan was shot.”

Master Windu raised an eyebrow. “That _would_ be what I’m here to talk about. Now, if you please, _Councilor_?”

Obi-Wan huffed out a breath, but then he laid a hand on Tup’s uninjured shoulder. “I’ll just be a few minutes, Padawan.”

Tup considered pointing out that he wasn’t actually a shiny, and could handle being left alone with the healers perfectly well, even _without_ Fives hovering ominously over anyone who came within five feet of Tup. Master Windu, however, did not seem like the sort who would appreciate that kind of comment, so Tup simply nodded. Master Obi-Wan went to the door and whispered something to Fives, in a voice too low for Tup to discern. Then he and Master Windu stepped out into the corridor.

With a slight twinge of guilt, Tup ran through one of the tricks he had seen in Master Sifo-Dyas’ memories, and sharpened his hearing to listen in on the conversation outside. It was, perhaps, not strictly a use of the Force that Obi-Wan would approve of, but, Tup reasoned, they wouldn’t be talking in the middle of the hall if whatever they had to say was _too_ sensitive.

“Do you want to explain what happened out there, Obi-Wan?”

“What do you _think_ happened? We were ambushed. Someone knew we would passing that way, at that time. What’s more, I am fairly certain they weren’t after just any Jedi. They wanted Tup specifically.”

A pause. “...they _what_?”

“They said they had been paid for the _clone_ , Mace. And that there was a bonus if they took him alive. I seriously doubt they were meant to take any clone they could get their hands on, which means Tup was targeted specifically. Someone wanted to stop his testimony before it could be heard.”

A hint of deep concentration drifted across their training bond, and Tup could almost see Obi-Wan stroking his beard in thought. “There was barely an hour between the Senate issuing their summons and Tup and I leaving the Temple. The timing of this can _not_ be a coincidence.”

“Agreed.” Another pause. “But you know that isn’t what I meant.”

Master Windu sounded so tired when he continued. “You know that the Council decided that Padawan Tup shouldn’t testify at all, and that he shouldn’t appear before the Senate until Shaak could get here from get here from Kamino.”

A snort. “Yes, I was there when that decision was issued. I merely opted to excercise my best judgement as Tup’s Master, and override that decision.”

“Obi-Wan, you _know_ we have to remain non-political in issues like this!”

“Oh, is that so?” Obi-Wan hissed. “And I suppose we were remaining non-political when we abandoned Ahsoka to the military? Or when I had to fake my _death_ to stop a plot on Chancellor’s life? We _are_ political now, Mace. It’s long past time that we accepted that fact and started actually using it to do some _good_ in the Republic!”

“Master Kenobi, this is not a matter to be discussing in the middle of corridor. Now, most of Council is probably in the Chamber by now, and they’re going to want to hear what you have to say about this gang targeting your Padawan, so if you want to continue this discussion, we should-”

But whatever else Master Windu said in reply was lost to Tup, as a particularly sharp jolt of pain from his shoulder broke his concentration, and his hearing returned to standard levels.

“Sorry, Padawan Tup,” Keelon said, placing another bloody scrap of fabric into the basin. “I know this can’t be comfortable, but we’ve got to get this mess cleaned out before I can start healing it. I’d give you a local anesthetic if I could, but your enhanced physiology doesn’t make those very effective.” The Rodian paused. “I suppose I could try a Force block, though, if you need one?”

“No, it’s fine. I can handle it,” Tup said, running through the exercises in pain suppression that Master Obi-Wan had showed him. By the time he had the sensation under control and reinstated the hearing enhancement, though, Obi-Wan and Master Windu were gone.

Tup sighed in frustration, and dropped the technique again. He turned to Fives, who (showing no sign of the surgery-related dizziness that was supposedly keeping him on Coruscant) was standing guard at the door.

“Fives,” Tup said, trying to sound casual. “It looks like Master Kenobi’s been dragged off. Can you go let him know that I’ll just return to our quarters when Healer Keelon is done with me?” _And maybe make a few detours to try and figure out more of what happened out there_ , Tup added silently, hoping Fives wouldn’t figure out what he was planning from his expression.

Fives, however, was having none of it. “No can do, Tup. I’m staying right here until Medical is done with you, and if General Kenobi isn’t back by then, then I am walking you back to your quarters myself.”

“Come on, Fives,” Tup said, rolling his eyes. “I can handle myself in the _Temple_. You don’t need to-”

“Oh no, don’t you give me that look, _Commander_. General Kenobi ordered me to keep an eye on you until he returns, and I am going to do just that.”

Tup opened his mouth to argue, or maybe just tease Fives about being an overprotective nanny-droid. But when he looked into Fives’ eyes, there was real worry there, and even a little fear. So he closed his mouth again, and swallowed the words unspoken. He needed answers, and soon. But for now, he could let it rest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _demagolka_ \- (Mando’a) someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal


End file.
